…weaving
our karma, steadying our targets,
surprised about our stations: at long trails, sensing coyotes, headed to
Bethlehem: our curious notions, our gutty feelings, our musical stars: so
seasonal, so prideful, so divorced from outcomes: sullen forethought, a bit
ill-equipped, so tensely naïve: those arguments tinted, our diehard positions,
to imagine transferred belief: but this is ours, and ours is windy, to imagine
our go-through: to tell stories, while observation listens, to conclude
disaster: replayed skies, as meteorologists, or rising rockets—at deaths
remorseful, at endless poems, where tension dwells…. It becomes evident, listening to silence,
effected by its loudness: pacing gently, reading gently, examining alienation:
to pep-talk mirrors, to leap midair, to land at first view: our wilted
tolerance, our needs for submission, where Love is quite independent: those
mental books, those realized parents, those combative siblings: to see faces,
streaming our courage, trekking through sugarcane: abandoned, lost, or running from
ghosts no-one can see: years at developments, so many huts, plus, a billion
metaphors…. It becomes angst, hiking
our insecurities, whispering to Existentialism: our resistant passion, threshed
by experience, at moments, forfeiting our breaths: so evolved, studying
shadows, needing to believe: those raven feathers, that delicate mask, our
monthly inhibitions: uncaged and winning, longing into heart-pressure, diving
into Teleology: such wavy thoughts, our private closets, to peek at an
avalanche. …where was I, this
deserted city, this incessant piano—at warmth those years, so lost and
confused, vetting false identities: such authentication, such running water,
such swimming souls: to lose horribly, to assume this stance, while wondering
concerning this incessant murk: as hunting tomorrow, or blatant into scars,
where Love was natural: where was I, those dear inconsistencies, presuming a
short-term liaison: those steps with shadows, those ladders with misprints, our
windows misspeaking those winters: where was I, at that announcement, where a
child was coming: this wrenching persistence, this walking prison, needing a
different type of person: this image in waves, this idealistic champion, this
running warrior: as soon by pressure, this deep aversion, as trying to ignore
mistreatment: but where was I, this city of rainbows, those abandoned
streets…. I was lost, reviewing
makeup, reviewing something typical: I was insulted, listening to insolence,
misidentifying deep insecurities: this lake of suitors, this muddy mayfly,
those troubling habits: (an entire life, an entire soul, forever at deception):
such soft, re-knitted, and vacuum aching harmony: to see that image, to feel
trapped, to need for lights—those roads to nowhere, but assuming this journey,
if but to get away: those shores cheerleading, something difficult casts to
souls, while something familiar continued a thriving dynasty: our mother’s
support, our mother’s instruction, while looking at ants: our winking
foreshadows, our deep pensiveness, while growing daily. I lay claim to omission, stagnant at those
gates, wobbling to justice: to find our sins, to feel for ruined, to rebuild
but ever affected: our changing voices, vying for entrance, into something
vacillating: this summer pendulum, this closed diary, or reopened screaming its
absence: our guided lines, our myopic hindsight, while preaching our
story-gloss: our penchant for disserts, while peeking around, wondering if
something leaked out: our vegetables with Soy, our most appropriate behavior,
while ravens are hawking: our polished dice, our thousand dollar gifts, but
still, our audience questions: at lights our minds, pitted in exhaustion, even
two months of good deeds: and still, this long, heavy road, those pelicans
pitching sand, our screams bubbling above our cedarchests: but where was she,
as never our souls, while a poet pines for something tremendous: those achy
seconds, building intimacy, feeling atypical newness: our parts as humans, our
union as powerful, our seeds as reflection of honest endeavor.
